May has been a rather rotten month blog-wise. Too much sunny weather and not enough writing. The garden beckons, the dog begs for a walk, and somewhere in between work and sleep and taking care of my DH, I pencil in some time to write my fiction.
I suffer without my writing. I won’t say it’s like air or anything cheesy or melodramatic, but I definitely get in a foul mood when the pen fails to meet paper. I start stalking around the house, glaring at the clock, and in general become that horror you see on late night scare flicks. Almost that bad, really.
But I am going on vacation now. My flight leaves in a few hours and I must say it’s a relief that Jon wrested my laptop out of my arms. What am I left to do now but sip pina coladas and laze about the beach?
I truly don’t know.